Never Doubt Me
by LittleAlbinoChibi
Summary: the little Italy that we all know and love is no more. At last things have gotten to much for him, and the black sea of insanity has claimed him. As he kills of those whom he had once seen as freinds, those that remain begin to wonder: is there any hope? Can they save Italy, or will he have to be killed? Rated K for gore, violence and swearing. WILL be plenty of character deaths.
1. Turn Around

_**Chapter One**_

_**Turn Around**_

_**(A/N: The year is 2020)**_

Germany sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. The meeting had ended in chaos, and they had come to absolutely no conclusion upon the problem of illegal whaling. To make matters worse, Italy hadn't shown up because apparently he had come down with a cold. Germany doubted this, but he decided to let it go just once. Now he was regretting that with every fibre of his existence.  
He got into his car, thinking about how Italy would have normally been begging to drive with him- and how they would have ended up crashing into a lamppost. Shaking his head to clear it, Germany put down his foot and drove, off glad he did not have far to go because the meeting had been held in his home this month. As he left the car park, he narrowly avoided a collision with a green Vauxhall. England was in the front seat, chatting to what appeared to be thin air, and consequently he had taken his eyes off the road. To add insult to injury, he was driving on the wrong side of the road. What did he think he was doing? Germany drove on, let the silly Englishman crash if he would!

When at last Germany pulled up at his home, a light drizzle had started to match his gloomy and brooding mood. Grey clouds scudded across the sky- and it was supposed to be summer right now! Of course, changing turbulences and global warming, coupled with a slowly disappearing ozone layer were all part of the strange weather patterns. With all this going on, the last thing the nations of the world needed was for countries like Norway and Japan to be allowed to hunt whales into extinction and for the seas to be polluted further by oil.

"Ve~ Doitsu, your-a back! I've-a been-a waiting for you!" An all too familiar voice called out. Germany looked up, surprised.

"Italy, vern't you at home sick?"

"Sì! But I-a got really bored. So-a I came-a right over an-" Italy was cut off as he tripped over his undone shoelaces, and because he had been waving his hands in the air, he fell right on his face. "Ah... oww...this sucks!" He wailed.

"Vell, let's get jou inside," Germany sighed, picking up his smaller friend and carrying him through the door.

He set him down on the counter. Yes, the very same counter upon which Italy had made pasta while Germany cleaned frantically. He picked out the grit, and then dressed each wound on the Italians hands and knee-caps, marvelling at how his friend could be so clumsy.

"Zhat should do it, alzhough I vould be more careful in the future. If zhis has happened vhen I vas not around vhat vould jou do?"

"I would-a ask big fratello Romano, or-a see if I-a can do for-a myself," Italy replied readily.

Italy watched as Germany put everything away again neatly, wondering if he really would be able to do it for himself. And... Had that been a bit of exasperation in Germany's tone? Surely not, after all, Germany was his BFF. But Italy knew that he could be very independent on Germany, and he also knew that Germany had his own life to live. He wanted to ask Germany to do up his laces, but he didn't dare.

These thoughts were unusually cheerless for Italy, and shall I tell you why? Well, the poor man had had a sad dream about Holy Rome while he was at home. If truth be, told it had been that dream that had made him want to see Germany. Since 2016, they hadn't been able to see that much of each other, in fact, Italy had been very cut off from the rest of the world due to problems with a new government. In that moment, Italy decided that he would try to do his laces himself. So, hopping down off the counter, he started tying up the knot.

Meanwhile, Germany had begun to make some wurst for himself and his guest. Italy could smell it cooking and he wanted some. When Germany turned around to see why Italy was being so quiet, he saw the Italian on the floor making a huge knot out of his shoelaces. It looked rather like a mess of spaghetti bolognaise, but whether by fault or design Germany couldn't tell, though Italy seemed to be able to make models of pasta out of anything.

"Do jou vant some help vith zhat?" He asked, wondering how Italy had managed it this time. Italy went silent, because he didn't want to have to rely on Germany again.

"No, I'll-a be alright," He chirped.

"Are jou sure?"

"Sì!"

"Okay, if jou say so," Germany replied, then went back to his wurst. Italy felt a tiny bit of despair at the sight of what he had done. Had he seen a bit of despair on Germany's face too? Or was Italy just imagining things? Even if he was only imagining it with Germany, he knew that there were countries who really did feel like that about him. Holy Rome and Grandpa Rome had understood him, and loved him for who he was, but they were gone. It was down to him now; Italy had to prove himself on his own. The world better watch out, because a new and better Italy would come from this day.

If Germany had looked back at his friend at that moment, he would have seen a shadow flicker across his eyes which were unusually open. He may have noticed something, but he did not. And that is how the most horrendous killing spree in the history of the world began. Families would be torn apart, nations would turn against each-other, friends- and enemies- would be lost for good and all the skeletons would be out of the closet and revealed for the world to see.


	2. Trip-Wire

Chapter Two:

Trip-wire

(The year: 2021)

Night was falling beyond the windows, but inside the house every light burned brightly. Sitting in a chair by the window, with his seemingly ever-present notebook on his knee, was Germany. It had been eight months since Italy missed that meeting with the alibi of a cold, and he had missed many more since. 'That is nine meetings in total that Italy has missed, and we have heard nothing from him at all' Germany thought to himself.

"I'm vorried," he muttered as he looked back through the ex-military diary he had kept dutifully since world war one.

"Vorried about vhat, vest?" Prussia asked, strutting into the room with his over-confident stride.

"Italy, zhat dumbkopf has missed quite a lot of meetings lately," Germany replied, looking up. "Vould jou mind turning off all zhe lights, ve are trying to save as much energy as ve can,"

"Nein, I vant zhem on. It vould be so un-awesome if I tripped over in zhe dark!" Prussia protested, seeming to forget that the world was in a major energy crisis, even though it had yet to be made official.

"Turn zhem off!" Germany shouted.

"Nein!"

"Ja!"

"Nei-" Prussia was cut off by the loud ringing of the phone. Germany picked it up at once.

"Herro, Germany-san?"

"Ja, vhat is it?"

"Has... Itary-san carred you?"

"Nein,"

"Werr, he isn't picking up his phone,"

"Okay, I'll try und call him myself,"

"Sayonara," Then Japan hung up. 'It isn't like Italy, I never call him- he always calls me. It used to be that I would get a call from him at least daily, and I would wake up to unexplainably find him in my bed about once a week. Now we hear nothing...' Germany stood up, pacing about to try and help him think. It was common knowledge that Italy's new government were being met by violent protests, and that trading with other countries had been cut off. But this... this was getting worrying. Picking up the phone once more, Germany put a call through to Italy.

"Ciao! I'm-a busy right-a now, but I'll-a get-a back to you as-a soon as I-a can, please-a leave a message. PASTAAAAAAAA!" Germany waited for the beep, before saying:

"Italy, vhen you get zhis, please call me back. At vunce!"

Compared to the brightness of the German brothers' house, Italy's house was like a tomb. Not a single light shone to break through the shadows, and no sound of his usual singing could be heard. The kitchen clearly had not been used for a while, which was even stranger than the darkness and silence put together.

In the darkest corner, surrounded by the deepest shadows, sat Italy. His back was pressed against the wall, his knees were drawn against his chest and tears streamed down his face. His new boss had just left, after telling him he was NOT to contact his friends. "This is the private problems of the Italian government and people", were his words. However, when I write left, I mean left for another life. If you ask Italy what happened, he won't be able to say, all he knows is that time and rationality blurred and the next thing he knew his bosses body laid dead upon the floor. Blood spattered everything, including Italy himself. Red as tomato pasta sauce. Italy doubted he would ever be able to eat his favourite food again!

_It's quite normal you know, killing, it's how you get strong. _A small voice said in the back of Italy's mind. His eyes widened further in shock. _Look, you did that. You were the one who painted everything that beautiful colour. Think what you could achieve. Eradicate the problem, and you will have no one to rely on. You can be strong for yourself._

Italy shook his head firmly, not wanting to listen to these dark thoughts in his head. But... the strange voice had a point... maybe. In fact, that colour was quite pretty. Just imagine, a world painted in it and Italy could show everyone who he could be. Should never have doubted me, Italy thought, I'll show them. A tiny part of him still knew what he was doing, but that spark of rationality was no match for the inferno of insanity by which his mind was being consumed. Everything in these past months had been driving him closer to that cliff edge in his mind. Now, he was falling in an endless freefall.

If anyone had been there to watch, they would have seen a dark cloud descend over his amber orbs. Italy held the knife tighter. It was time for revenge; after all, he could have his revenge _and _eradicate the problem at the same time. It would be fun, and he knew just who to visit first.

_Look out, look out wherever you are._

Someone who had caused him much pain and humiliation. Someone who had made his early life a misery.

_I'm tired of waiting, your time is up._

Austria had better watch out, because Italy was going to find him. Though, why not make a little game out of it first?

_Come on, join me in this game of hide and seek. _


	3. Blood On The Notes

**Chapter Three: **  
**Blood on the Notes.**

Music filled every crevice in the house, swirling up against the windowpanes, and creeping under doors. Beautiful, it was sort of music that stirred your soul. Austria was playing the wonderful acompiniant to 'Red and Black', from Les Mis. Hungary had left to visit Prussia, or something along those lines. Austria was alone in the house, alone with his music in pure bliss. He never heard the creak of the door behind him, or the soft footfall on the carpet. As the music came to a crescendo, Austria felt a hand slide around his throat.

"_Red, the blood of dying men,_" Italy hissed in the musical nation's ear. Austria tried to take a step back, but Italy was holding him with a strength that no-one dreamed he ever possessed.

"What are you doing, dummy?" Austria asked, slightly unsettled.

"_Don't just stand there, Italy, sit down and listen,_" Italy said, quoting from a time long ago. "How about-a I listen to-a you scream," darkness was laced through his usually cheerful accent. Austria's heart leapt in his throat, he could tell something was awfully wrong.

"Vould you mind telling me vhat you are doing?"

"Hahah~ Where-a would the-a fun be in-a that-a? Now turn around, slowly," Italy pulled on Austria's arm roughly, forcing him to look around at him. What Austria saw was shocking. Italy had his eyes wide open, but they had a dark fire burning deep down. It was almost as if you could look through them, into his soul, and see the seething coil of insanity eating him from inside out.

"Would-a you-a like to-a do this quick or slow? Legato or staccato, which would you prefer? What-a kind of music should-a we make-a this into?" Italy raised his knife, tracing it from the Austrian's neck to his heart. "I-a think that-a a legato classic would-a be-a perfetto~"

"No..." Austria stepped back, until he pressed against his beloved piano. The wood he took so much care to keep clean dug into his lower back. He leaned back a little more and a single note rang out.

A high pitched note that matched his scream of agony.

A dreadful screech of contrasting notes burst out, as the body of the aristocratic musician of a nation was pressed hard down on the piano. He writhed in pain, beneath Italy's knife. Clearly all that time cooking, chopping, dicing in the kitchen making pasta was paying off. Italy smiled at the sound of the lovely tune Austria was forming. Every time he brought down the knife in just the right place to cause just the right sort of pain, the right scream would come forth from his mouth. Just like new type of piano. Beautiful

Hungary opened the door, Prussia right behind her. Germany, desperate for some peace and quiet, had shunted Prussia off on Hungary to drop off on Austria. Clever how things work, isn't it?  
"Aus- Oh my god!" Hungary stepped into the piano room, wondering why it was so quiet, and stopped short. Prussia came up behind her, and promptly turned away to wretch.

"Mein gott! Vhat zhe hell happened to him!?" Prussia asked, not wanting to admit that he was terrified, but unable to keep the telltale tremble out of his voice. Hungary quietly shook her head, going to her knees beside her ex-husband. She put a finger to his bloodied neck, checking for a pulse. For a moment, she thought it was all over, that he was gone beyond help. But then she felt the faintest whisper of a pulse beneath her finger. It was dreadfully unsteady, and there were intervals where it seemed to stop and then speed up.

"Call 112! Quickly!" Hungary commanded Prussia, lifting Austria into a sitting position.  
"Vhat happened?" Hungary asked.

"Italy... watch out... snap... dark... such..." Austria tried to speak, but his vocal chords had been ravaged by screaming.

"Italy?"

"He... he did it..." Austria rasped. "Staccato and Legato...". And then Austria's eyes slid closed.

Never to read those blood-stained notes- or anything else- ever again.

Hungary may not have ever loved him, but she did want to protect Austria, and now he was lying dead in her arms. Prussia came back in, saw her crying in silence, and instinctively put his arms around her- like he used to do for Germany when he hurt himself. He was sad too, to tell the truth, but he had to stay strong for Hungary.  
When at last the ambulance and police arrived, Hungary had cried herself out into Prussia's shoulder. Gently she was offered a ride in the police car home, but she refused. She wanted to go back with Prussia, because neither of them wanted to be alone after that.  
As they were leaving, Prussia glanced back at the house, and was sure he saw a figure at the window.

"Did you zee zhat?" Prussia asked Hungary. She nodded, and then shuddered.  
Because they had both recognised that figure to be Italy. What had become of the sweet innocent Italian they had once known?


	4. The One Left Behind

**_Chapter Four: _**  
_**The One Left Behind**_

_**A/N: I'm so sorry if they're really OOC in this chapter**_

It had been a few weeks since Austria's death- sorry- _murder._ Now the day of the next world meeting had arrived, but in a basement in England a meeting of a very different kind was taking place.  
Britain and Norway were sitting on chairs, Norway was reading through a book and Britain was skimming through a book of black spells.  
"That Romania is most certainly taking his time!" Britain exclaimed, checking his watch.  
"Yes," Norway replied, not looking up. Then, with a slight glow of blue light, Romania appeared in the room. A little bit of slushy snow came off his boots onto the carpet. He looked slightly apprehensive as he went to sit down, narrowing his eyes at the chair.  
"Busby's chair?" He asked.  
"Why the bloody hell do you say that?"  
"Because it's glowing slightly,"  
"That's Elvisa," Norway muttered from behind his book. "She's already sitting there so you need to sit somewhere else," Norway was referring to the Norwegian nature spirit that was sitting in the chair, invisible to all but his eyes. Romania sighed, pulling up another chair from the corner.  
"Hey, Britain, I thought you might be interested in this," Romania slid a heavy leather-bound tome across the table, its silver clasps clinking on the polished wood. England picked it up; carefully undoing the clasps, he opened it on a random page.  
"Thank you, Romania, thi- Ah... Voodoo dolls. This spell will be perfect for use on America,"  
"Or Denmark," Norway added.  
"If you want," Britain replied. "How about we start now, after all, I do have some of his hair from when stayed a while ago- that git must be malting!" Britain looked thoroughly disgusted, as he got up and went to get the hair. Norway and Romania didn't even ask why America was here of all places.  
"I have nothing of Denmark's," Norway stated, seeming slightly sad about it, but at the same time the look on his face didn't give anything away. That was the thing with Norway; you could never be sure what he was really feeling. Then Britain came back in, slamming the door quickly.  
"Help me barricade the door!" He shouted. Romania and Norway were startled, and therefore too slow to do anything.  
The door swung open, and someone they recognised, if only just, stepped through the door.  
"Oh, look, you've got company Britain," All trace of the cheerful Italian accent had gone from Italy's voice; instead it was cold and almost toneless. But there was a slight teasing, cajoling hint. Italy was hardly Italy anymore; in his place was a cold, sadistic, ruthless monster of a killing machine. Britain suddenly noticed that Italy was holding a familiar katana.  
"Where did you get that?" England asked.  
"I... borrowed it from Japan. He was very nice in lending it to me. I rewarded him by helping him on to the next life quickly," Italy smiled. Not the happy-go-lucky innocent smile from before, but a dark smile that would haunt Norway, Romania and Britain's nightmares for eternity- if they lived, that is. What a fine situation to be in!  
"Italy, you do not need to do this. We can he-" Britain never finished as Italy sliced out with the katana. The sharp blade left a deep cut right across Britain's chest from shoulder to shoulder. Norway scooped up the first spell book he saw and started to chant, while Romania tried to restrain Italy.  
"_Captivius Dumbledora Instrainta_!" Norway shouted, flinging out his arm to direct the magic at Italy. But at the same time, Romania cast a spell of his own. The two different currents of magic collided in a violent explosion of blue and gold sparks. It was as if a grenade had gone off in England's small basement, and the explosion threw all four countries through the air. Dust and smoke made the air nearly impossible to breathe in, the table lay in splinters, and bright silver flames were beginning to devour the wreckage. Soon those flames would spread to consume everything. Norway lay limply beneath a fallen bookcase, while Romania had fallen against a bare wall, slumped against it. Italy was by the door, lying directly in the path of the flames, Britain by his side.  
Romania was the first to awake, cracking open an eye and rubbing his head. Gently he stretched out every limb. Only as he was doing that did he notice the flames. He saw Britain was right in their path alongside Italy, with the insane nation gradually starting to stir. The supposed vampire pushed himself to his feet, running to and grabbing Britain. He was about to go for Norway, but a hand grabbed his ankle tightly. Panicking ever so slightly, Romania did the first thing he could think of- teleport himself and Britain out of there.

In the world summit building, the countries that had made it were beginning to worry. They all knew about Italy and his snapping, Hungary and Prussia had warned them after Austria's murder. Germany had been shocked; he hadn't wanted to believe it. Romano had yelled at everyone and anyone he could, until his voice had gone, in the end Spain had to take him back to his place. Now any country that could was staying with someone else- safety in numbers and all those lies we tell to make ourselves feel safe.  
"Dude, should we worry or something?" America asked.  
"Idiot Ameriqué! Most of us 'ave been worrying for zhe past hour!"  
"Oh... right! Ahahah! The hero can't do everything!" America laughed, flashing a pose. France facepalmed along with Canada.  
"Amazing to zhink zhat you two are related," he muttered, turning to Canada.  
"Oui... b-but we're o-only partly related. More l-like step b-brothers," Canada stuttered, surprised that he had been noticed.  
Then, in a soft blue glow, two figures appeared in the room. One was covered in blood and being supported by the other; both were covered in soot and dust from head to toe.  
"Iggy dude, what happened?" America asked, going right over to his older brother.  
"H-he's losing allot o-of blood," Canada said, but no-one heard him. Of course. But it was true. The wound across Britain's chest was bleeding copious amounts of blood, so much blood.  
"Jap-" Almost reflexively Germany went to ask Japan to get the first aid kit.  
"Japan is dead," Britain muttered; he was clearly struggling to breathe. A gasp went up from all of the countries assembled in the room. Italy had got the ninja! Who would be next, were any of them safe?  
"What happened? Just tell us already!" America demanded. Romania looked up, sat down, and began to tell what had happened.  
"...And then I had to teleport ourselves here," He finished, about half an hour later. Understandably he left out the fact that they had been planning to make voodoo dolls, which clearly wouldn't go down well!  
"You left my brother behind?" A voice said. Everyone turned to see Iceland. His face looked emotionless, his voice too sounded like he felt nothing, but he was too calm.  
"We didn't have a choice, I had to get-"  
"HE COULD BE DEAD BY NOW! HOW CO... How could... you...?" Iceland came forward in a surge of anger, but then faltered as his voice broke. He seemed to be trying to hold back a sob. Everyone was surprised- this was so unlike the usually quiet and rather emotionless nation. Slowly, Iceland started to walk towards the door, shock slowing his movements.  
"Icey, calm down!" Denmark tried. There was a stunned silence in the room. A silence that was unexpectedly broken by the loud ringing of a phone. What Does the Fox Say blared out from Denmark's pocket.  
"Norgie?" Denmark asked into the speaker of his mobile.  
"Not Norway, Italy, put me on loudspeaker," Denmark heard that cold voice from the other end of the line. His hand trembling ever so slightly, Denmark pressed the speaker button.  
"I did it,"  
"I didn't want to kill Norway, only Britain, but he was here. Rather, he still is, and I won't harm him. But bring me Britain, I have a nice death for him. _Just,_ for him. These are my terms," The call ended then, as the phone slipped from Denmark's limp hand.  
"Vas... vas zhat Italy?" Germany asked, seemingly unable to comprehend that he had just heard those words from his first ever friend.  
"Ja, zhat is vat I vas telling you," Prussia replied.  
"Mein gott... oh Italy..." Germany muttered, clearly in shock.  
Iceland sat down in a chair, his legs no longer able to keep him up. Despair was replacing shock now, a deep despair that started right in the darkest part of his soul. His head was spinning with all possibilities of what could be happening to his brother.  
"This meeting... this meeting is over," America said shakily. "We'll carry on tomorrow. Now we gotta get Iggy to a hospital, like, now!" And so the meeting was over, at least until tomorrow. Now no-one would be alone, that was for sure. No-one was safe, not from Italy's dark quest of insane revenge.


	5. Ransoms To Be Paid

He stirred ever so slightly, aware of the dreadful pain in his head, shoulders and ribs- but nothing below his waist.

Norway opened his eyes.

It took only a few moments for him to realise where he was, hanging from the ceiling by a chain. The shackles bound around his wrists, and were attached to the huge iron hook in the ceiling that England used to hook his cauldron to. Norway felt as if his arms were being pulled out by their sockets, and it hurt to try and keep his head up. But why couldn't he feel his legs? He tried to move them, but looking down nothing happened, in fact, they looked all twisted and curiously... flat, yes, slightly flat.

"Heheh~ I see you're awake. Now we can have a little fun, pour favoure," Norway tried to turn his head, but he couldn't do it.

"Let me down, Italy,"

"I don't think I will," Italy replied, moving around so that Norway could see him. "It's so annoying that you don't even look scared. I'd love to make you scream for me, but I can't. _Yet_. I think that'll be fun, don't you?"

"Why are you doing this?" Even now, Norway's voice seemed to be calm, as was his face.

"I'm doing this because I want Britain. You're just my bargaining chip, no worries. But if they don't hand over Britain soon then I'll have to have my fun with you..." Italy smiled in such a way that his face seemed to light up with a mad light. Norway had no doubt that 'fun' meant torture, and now he was slightly worried. He may have been through so much in the Viking era, what with all those bloody battles and raids. He had witnessed when Denmark had ruthlessly massacred over a hundred Swedish noblemen, yet so many years of relative peace had softened him, he wasn't sure how to handle this anymore.

"Oh, you might like to know, your legs were crushed beneath that bookcase. I had to pull you out, don't really know what I did to you but I think it hurt," Italy spoke up, his words coming from the blue. "And you know what; I think I might call them now. Yes... they must have come to a decision by now, after all, I have given them 24 hours," Italy then picked up a phone from a small coffee table he had dragged down to the basement. Norway realised that it was his own phone. "One last thing, we need to make this convincing. Are you ready, Norway? This might hurt just a bit,"

"DUDE NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL AM I HANDING IGGY OVER!" America hollered at Denmark.

"YOU WILL!" Denmark shouted back.

"NEVER!" Was America's oh-so-persuasive reply.

"We cannot 'and over Anglettere, it would be betraying a friend, non?"

"Like you care!" Iceland piped up.

"I say we go in and kill Italy. It will solve two problems at once, da," Was Russia's contribution.

"Nein! Ve are not doing zhat! Zhere must still be a vay to save Italy!" Germany stood up, slamming his hands down on the table. Prussia and Hungary agreed with Germany at once, only to have Greenland strongly disagree. She didn't want anything to happen to her brother, and she would do anything to get him back. Denmark felt proud that his little sister was showing her great inner strength at last. He was about to say something when his phone rang. It was Norway's ringtone.

"Put me on loud speaker again," Italy's voice said. A hush descended as Denmark put the phone in the centre of the table.

"What do you want now?" Denmark asked.

"Have you decided to hand Britain over? Because I'm getting bored of watching Norway, and your time is up," America went pale.

"You never said anything about a time limit!" He shouted at the phone.

"Well, I do believe it slipped my mind. But it's now or never,"

"Italy, vhy are jou doing zhis? Vhat do jou haf to gain?" Germany asked.

"You all doubted me, looked down on me. Well, that's over now, I'm out for revenge. You can't stop me Germany; I killed Japan because he tried to talk some sense into me. I will kill you too if I must," Italy replied. "But now we're off subject. You have thirty seconds to give me your answer," Everyone looked at each other. The ticking of the clock became louder in everyone's ears.

_Twenty seconds..._

America shook his head. He didn't want the man who had cared for him to die.

_Ten seconds..._

Iceland and Greenland nodded. They would do what they could for Norway. Iceland opened his mouth.

"NO!" America beat him to it. "Die in a hole, Italy! I will never do that!"

"Idiot... are you ready?" Italy said, only half addressing his unseen audience at the other end of the line.

"No... GAAAAAAHHHHHH! YOU BA- ARGGGHHHH!" In the shocked silence, every nation in that room heard the agonised screams that could only belong to Norway.

"ICELAN- GAAAAAHHHH! NO! NO! ARRRGHHH HEL-" Splinters of plastic, wood and glass flew around the room as Iceland smashed a chair down on the phone. He was breathing hard, terrified by what he had heard. Denmark leapt at his fellow member of the awesome trio.

"Look what you've done now!" He shouted, throwing punches with all his strength. America was too stunned to react. Greenland was sobbing into Iceland shoulder, while he stared right ahead, to shocked to comfort her. Sweden tried to calm Finland, who was hyperventilating and holding Hanatamago so tight that the poor dog was gasping for air.

Then the doors burst open, and Britain came in, bandaging wrapped around his wound. He looked angry and ready to bite someone's head off.

"Okay you bloody wankers. Romania filled me in on everything, and you better not have done... I'm too late aren't I...?"

"Yeah, yeah dude, you are," America spoke from his place being pinned up against the wall by Denmark.

"This is your fault," Iceland said.

"Oh bloody Hell, oh bleeding heck!" Britain seemed to deflate then. The 'great' going out of the British Empire. Oh... poor Britain. How hard is must have been for him, knowing that his life was in the debt of another nation. He turned and left the room. A plan was taking root in his mind. One that involved magic, heroism and great sacrifice. And probably some burnt pasta on the doorstep.

**_A/N: What do you think so far? Let me know in the comments._**


	6. You Call This Success?

_**Chapter Six:**_

_**You call this Success?**_

"Right, listen up, I have a plan and it goes like this: We are working on the assumption that Italy, though off his rocker, is still Italy. So, I am going to make some pasta, and leave it on the doorstep for him. Mixed in with the pasta will be something to put Italy to sleep. Then we will break in and hopefully be in time to save Norway. If not, then the least we can do is make sure that his body gets a decent burial and that Italy gets the punishment he deserves- in prison!" Britain announced.

The four remaining Nordics and Greenland paled, not liking the thought that Norway could be dead. Greenland shook her head, as if to defy the fact England could be telling the truth.

"Don't say that!" She said.

"But Anglettere, your cooking iz dreadful. Why would petit Italy eat it? 'E is gourmet, you know,"

"Oi! Shut it you wanker! My cooking is just fine!"

"Non, I beg to differ," France replied, shaking his head.

"I-a will-a cook that damned-a pasta, you idiota cheese bastard," Romano, who had been strangely quite for a long time now, spoke up from the back of the room.

"Are you sure, Roma?" Spain asked.

"Sí, you tomato bastard, I can-a do what-a I want!"

"I wasn't-"

"Shut-a up already!" Romano yelled. Spain smiled to himself, glad that Romano was acting himself again. "And-a don't call-a me that!" Romano added. Yes, he was back to his old self.  
"Right, now that is cleared up, let's sort out who will be part of our rescue force," Britain addressed the rest of the nations.  
At once, Iceland, Greenland, Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Russia put up their hands. Russia most likely only wanted to come along on the chance of there being 'fun time with the magic cane', though his help would be appreciated later. Britain took in his rescue crew, knowing that it was the best he could hope for in such a situation. He hoped that his plan worked, he really did.

Britain was hiding in the bushes outside his house, across the drive was Russia in his own bush. The rest of the volunteers were stationed at hiding points around the front garden, all placed where they could see the door, or course. They were tense and waiting, holding their breaths as they waited for visual evidence that their plan was working. Russia had just run the doorbell, and then ran back after leaving the pasta on the doorstep. This had to work.

Italy paused, the blade of his knife stopping a mere millimetre away from Norway's left eye. He removed his hand from beneath Norway's chin, letting his head flop down to his chest with a dull thud. Norway had nothing left in him, his voice was gone and consciousness was fast abandoning him. Then there was the pain, the dreadful pain that ravaged his body all over.  
"Did you hear that, Norway? The bell just rang; perhaps they decided to hand Britain over after all..." Italy said to the limp body in front of him. Of course, there was no response. So, Italy left to answer the door, Japans katana clutched in his hand.  
The door opened to reveal a harmless bowl of pasta on the doorstep. Italy was about kick it away, but a waft of the smell drifted up to his nostrils. He felt strange for a moment, as that small sane part of his brain remembered the wonderful taste of the carbohydrate dish. For just a moment, the old Italy was back as he reached down and took some of the pasta with his bare hands. He put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was proper Italian pasta, he could tell. Perfectly cooked and wonderfully Moorish. Italy disappeared back inside the house, going to the kitchen; he polished off the entire dish.  
Before he knew it, his eyes were closing and his head drooped onto the table-top.

After ten minutes, Iceland decided to creep up to the kitchen window, peering through. He saw Italy asleep at the table, and stood up. Greenland saw him, and knew it was safe. She imitated an owls cry, the signal it was safe to go in.  
Russia, Denmark, Finland, Sweden and Britain went up to the door and entered, followed by Iceland. Britain guessed that Italy would be holding Norway in the basement, and so he led the troop down to where he had secretly practised his magic so many times. It was quite funny really, the way the group just strolled through the house, because they didn't need to be quiet. Italy would be out for two hours, and not even an atomic bomb would be able to wake him. Mind you though, and atomic bomb would kill him, but that's beside the point!  
Britain opened the door to the basement; letting Denmark go first down the steps, he began to mentally prepare himself for whatever magic he might have to work. He ended up holding the door as everyone else came past, Greenland bringing up the rear. Suddenly Denmark shouted.  
"Icey! Greeney! Stay... stay up there, you don't want to see this!" Iceland stopped on the steps, meaning that Greenland went into him in the gloom, and then Britain bumped into her.  
"Well, why not?" Greenland asked.  
"Just don't!" Was the cryptic reply. Iceland started forward again anyway, he would get to his older brother.  
He came to the foot of the stairs, and entered the basement space. Almost at once he stopped dead in absolute horror at what he was seeing.  
Norway hung from the ceiling by his wrists, which were chained above his head. His feet dangled a tantalizing inch or so above the floor. But that wasn't the worst of it, oh no, it was not. Blood was pooling around Norway's feet, dripping from various knife wounds along his chest, his legs were crushed and misshapen- should his ankles be twisted at that angle? His head hung limply between his shoulders, meaning that his face was hidden.  
"Oh dear God!" Britain exclaimed, coming in behind Iceland and Greenland. Greenland gasped in shock, her mouth hanging open like a landed fish.  
"Big brother?" Iceland sounded so young, so helpless that even Russia felt moved. Norway didn't as much as stir; it was as if Iceland hadn't said those two magic words.  
Quickly, Britain helped Russia and Denmark get Norway down. They lay him out on the floor as carefully as they could.  
Then they saw his face.  
Norway's right eye had been gouged out, and he seemed be choking all of a sudden. Britain rolled him into the revival position and opened Norway's mouth to check his airway. With an exclamation of disgust Britain jerked back. Russia leaned in to look.  
"Oh, interesting da. Italy has cut out his tongue. He never used it much anyway,"  
"Russia! You bastard how could you?!" Denmark shouted, horrified. Russia merely looked untroubled, that strange smile still on his face.  
Finland ran to call an ambulance, and the police. Silence fell, as Denmark tried to see how bad the damage was through all the blood. Almost on instinct he went to take Norway's hand, then realised the full extent to with Italy had done. Every single one of Norway's fingers and each of his thumbs had been sawed off crudely, most likely with a blunt knife.

"Britain, how far is the nearest hospital?" Denmark asked.

"About three miles, why?"

"I want to know how long it'll take the ambulance to get here," Denmark replied. He wouldn't admit it, but he was terrified. They all were who knew how long Norway would last? He had lost so much blood already, and he was losing still more. Silence fell, interrupted only by the near-silent sobs from Iceland.

Poor, poor Icey. He felt so lost at that moment, lost and scared like he had never felt before. That old fear was back, the sort of fear he had felt in both world wars when he hadn't known if he would ever see his older brother again. Normally, he didn't need any help; he could keep back his emotions and stare down the world with a cool blue stare. But this was too much. He and Greenland were hugging each other, but Iceland felt no comfort in the embrace because Greenland was just as scared as himself. Would he ever get to tell Norway that he did care for him, as a brother should, would he ever get to call him big brother when he could hear? That thought was to terrifying, but it would not leave Iceland's head.

_This is the end..._

"They're here!" Finland shouted, coming down the steps. Two policemen and two paramedics came down the steps and into the basement. They took it all in, the blood and the mutilated body.

"Dear bloody God above! Did... did that man upstairs do all this?" One of the policemen exclaimed, placing a hand over his mouth as if to stop himself from vomiting. He looked fresh and young, clearly new to the job, not ready for something like this.

"Yes, officer, I'm afraid he did," England replied, reflecting that he could hardly believe it himself. "But enough dilly-daddling, we need to get him to the hospital!"

The policeman moved aside, to let the paramedics past. They carefully rolled Norway onto a stretcher, while Denmark gave them a run-off of his injuries.

"What is his name?" One asked.

"Lukas Bondevik," Denmark replied.

Then they went up the steps. The two policemen went to handcuff Italy, but Britain stopped them. Something didn't seem quite right. He was sure that Italy had been facing the other way, and his chair was in the wrong place, a bit too close to the door. Before he could cry out, Italy had leapt up, striking out with the knife in his hand at the nearest person standing near.

Or should I say country.

Finland doubled over, the silver blade plunging deep in his stomach. Sweden caught him before he could fall, lowering him to the kitchen tiles. In the following chaos and distraction, Italy made his break for freedom. He may have snapped, but he could still run like a cheetah on high energy drinks. However, he never even reached the door.

Russia swung out with his pipe, catching him clean on the head. Such a blow would have killed a human, but it only served to knock Italy out.

"That will work better than any drug you can give him, good old magic cane!" Russia smiled. The policemen frowned.

Sweden was oblivious to all of this; his world was revolving only around Finland. A small trickle of blood ran out from the side of the shorter nation's mouth; his breath rattled in his throat. Blood stained his blue uniform a garish purple, leaking out onto the pristine white tiles. His eyes were fixed on Sweden now, just Sweden.

"Su-san... stay with me..." Finland whispered, reaching his hand out to Sweden who took it gently in his.

"Always," Sweden replied. "You're my wife, I would never leave you," He said more then than he had probably ever said in his long, long life. His words just for Finland.

"Tell... tell... Sealand that... I'll miss him... and... I love you," Finland gasped, and then his breath caught in his throat. The final death-rattle. A single tear rolled down Sweden's face, as rare as a blue moon, as Finland's hand fell limp in his. It was all over. He felt like a cord inside of him had been severed, like a hole had been roughly scooped out of his heart with a spoon. A perfect, Finland shaped hole. Gently he reached over and closed Finland's eyes, sliding his lids over his brown orbs.

Denmark had left in the ambulance with Norway and Iceland. Greenland was being driven along by Britain, which left Sweden alone with Russia, and an extremely baffled policeman. Poor guy, he probably was still wondering why they had all been calling each other country names. Either that or he was trying to think where on earth Sealand was. Shaking his head, Officer Barnes helped his fellow officer haul Italy into the police car outside.

Night had long since fallen over England, and Denmark and Iceland were still keeping silent vigil in the hospital. Norway had only just come out of theatre, and now it would be a long and agonizing twelve-hour wait to see if he woke up. If he didn't... well, they all knew what that meant. There was only so much the doctors could do, for a case like this was very rare. In fact, a case like this had probably never been seen.

They knew about Finland's murder, and now they didn't feel like the rescue mission had been a success. Perhaps things would get better, now that Italy was in prison for pre-meditated murder, who could say?

At some point in the night, Norway opened his eye. Iceland was awake at the time, and so he was the one to cry and hug his older brother. He was also the one to deliver the shocking news. Norway would never walk again, nor would he be able to speak or see from his right eye. He had lost his feet, but when his legs didn't work that didn't seem to matter to him. Iceland did his best to comfort him, as Norway cried silent tears from only a single eye. Though, Norway was alive, and things would get better. Iceland felt it in his bones.

Little did they know, in a hotel room in Finland, Sweden's body was swinging at the end of a rope, waiting to be found in the morning by the cleaners.


	7. This Is War

**_Chapter Seven:_**

**_This Is War _**

The rain fell on the saddest scene possible: a poorly attended funeral. Only three figures stood by the two open graves, each one paying their final respects to the dead. Iceland hung back slightly because, sad as it may be, he didn't know Sweden and Finland that well. Okay, they were a family of sorts but he felt that Estonia and Denmark had more reason to mourn the two. Denmark knelt by the double grave, more serious than anyone had ever seen him before.

"Well... I guess I should say sorry for everything that I did to you, Sve. And, Finny, I should have taken you more seriously in life," Denmark dropped a bouquet of Lilly of the Valley and pink Linnea, the national flowers of both countries. Estonia draped wreath of the same flowers, entwined together, over the white marble cross that bore the epitaph:

_Here lie Tino Väinämöiener_ _and Berwald Oxenstierna, two brave souls who did not allow even death to part them. May they find happiness together in the next life._

_They will be sorely missed_

_RIP_

It was true, for they had not allowed even death to split them apart, and their friends had made sure that stayed true. Sweden and Finland were buried in the same grave, in a specially made coffin, in a quiet spot between the Finnish and Swedish border. There was no priest or anything like that, because Denmark had been convinced that he 'had every right to say the final blessings because he was the awesome king of Northern Europe'. See, some things never change!

The coffin lid was closed, as Iceland, Denmark and Estonia began to shovel the earth on top of it, burying the two dead countries. Estonia cried silently, wishing that Latvia and Lithuania had come along, but they hadn't dared to leave Russia's side. They thought that protection could be found with him, as anyone would, really. Only Estonia had been able to overcome his nerves and come to say his last goodbyes to his friend.

"Goodbye," He whispered.

In Russia, two of the three Baltic States stood trembling in the kitchen. Miss Belarus was visiting, and they knew that when she left Russia would be in a dreadful mood.

"W-will Mr Russia crushes me or stretch me?" Latvia asked of Lithuania. Lithuania just shook his head, he had no idea. Despite the fact that he seems to have the magical power to produce vodka for Russia out of nowhere, he isn't a psychic, sadly. He went to ask Latvia what he wanted for dinner, but before he could say anything a cold blade plunged into his back. Lithuania froze and then fell to his hands and knees, coughing up blood. Sweet little Latvia turned around to see Italy smiling at him.

"Hello, Latvia, I don't think you have to worry about Russia anymore," he said. Latvia stepped back.

"How d-did you get i-in?"

"I came in through the door, using the spare key you left under the mat for Estonia," Italy replied, then leapt at Latvia. His knife went directly into his heart, and he was dead before he felt a thing. Italy kicked Latvia's body away, and then went to see what cooking things Lithuania kept in the kitchen. To his twisted delight, he found a sharp blade, the likes of which you would find in a butchers shop. It gleamed in the electric light, and the wicked edge cut Italy's finger like a knife in butter when he tested it.

"_Put on the pan, said greedy Nan, and we'll have red pasta sauce before you go..._" Italy muttered, almost to himself. He went back to Lithuania, who trying to force himself to his feet, his face screwed up in pain. Italy laughed at the sight, and then pushed Lithuania back down, placing his hand directly over where his knife had gone in. Lithuania fell flat on his face, which made Italy laugh even harder.

Still laughing, Italy went upstairs to where he assumed Russia would be. However, he had no idea of the presence of Belarus in the house. As he came onto the landing, he saw Belarus clawing at Russia's bedroom door, and was too surprised to turn back. Belarus saw him at once, and guessed what he intended to do.

"You will not touch my big brother!" She screeched, trying to stab Italy with her knife. Her blade, though small compared to Italy's butcher knife, was lithe and quick. As Italy narrowly missed slicing her in half, she stabbed him through the shoulder. Shocked, Italy staggered back, and for a moment he almost called out for Germany. Belarus tried to stab him again, and broke the trance that had descended over Italy. He leapt away, retaliating with his cleaver in a deadly upward arc. Belarus was cut in half at an angle, the cleaver cutting line from her left hip to her right shoulder. The scream that came from her mouth was so dreadful that it shattered the glass in the windows along the hallway, but Italy revelled in the sound. He laughed outright at her two separate halves and the bloody puddle on the floor.

"Bel- You will pay for that!" Russia came out of his bedroom, confused as to what was going on. He swung his pipe at Italy, not even wondering for a moment how the crazy nation was in his house; Russia had left him with the police after all. Italy was slow to stagger away, his wound was slowing him down, but he managed it just in time.

Russia managed to hit Italy on the very same shoulder that Belarus had wounded him, and Italy fell with a slight whimper. He dropped his cleaver, and Russia kicked it away from his reaching fingers, stamping on the digits in the process. It looked as if Italy had tried to take on more than he could handle this time- was this it for him? Russia smiled self-confidently as he walked forward, swinging his pipe from hand to hand. He felt he could afford to take his time, for he had the upper hand, and there was no way Italy could fight back now.

Or was there?

When Russia was about to deliver the final blow, Italy caught the pipe in mid-swing. He twisted it back around, until Russia was forced to drop it lest Italy snapped his wrist. This didn't deter Russia as he tried to use his bare fists, but now Italy had the weapon, and so he rammed it into Russia's chest. For a human such a blow would have crushed their chest, but it merely winded Russia and took him by surprise. Italy seized his cleaver once more, swinging around with all his unused might. Yes, Italy is in fact very strong; he just never used to try.

With a dreadful thud, Russia's head fell from his shoulders and onto the carpet, where it rolled before coming to a stop by Italy's booted feet. Bending down, Italy picked up the severed limb by the hair, holding it up so he was face to face. He laughed at the horrified expression that it bore, as if Russia hadn't felt scared until that final second, and then all the fears of centuries and centuries had come out all at once. Italy began to play with the head as he would once have played with a football, kicking it around in the hallway. Soon he grew bored of that, and began to knee it and head but it, blood flying everywhere. He was coated in it, and red spattered the hallway as if someone had splatter-painted it with crimson. Then his fun was interrupted by a phone going off. Italy took Russia's phone from his dead body, answering it to hear a familiar British voice that filled him with bitter fury.

"Russia, Italy has escaped from prison. He is coming after you! Yo-"

"Ah... Britain, I know that I got out of prison," Italy hissed into the speaker. He could almost hear Britain freeze down the phone line; he could imagine perfectly the Brits face at that moment. "You might want to have someone collect the bodies, before any questions are asked, understand? If you do this, then I'll go after someone else, rather than America, got it?"

"You... you macaroni wanker!" Britain shouted.

"_Do you understand?_" Italy repeated himself.

"Ye- yes, I do," Britain replied, his voice seething with anger, yet somehow calm.

"Perfetto~" Italy chirped, allowing his accent to slip back, just to get at Britain. Then he hung up, dropping the phone by Russia's head. Then, still smiling to himself, Italy turned and left Russia's house.

He knew just who he was going after next. Oh yes, Italy had a plan forming in his mind. This was so much more than revenge now; this was his own private war. A war that he _would_ win, without any help- and a war that would leave him in charge of the world, when it was over.

_This. Is. War._

Switzerland sighed as he sat down on his porch chair, glad to be relaxing after a day of hard work. He put up his aching feet; picked up the book he was slowly getting through, and settled down to read. His guns had been put away, as a favour to Liechtenstein, who didn't want to see them around the house anymore. The sweet little girl was in bed, fast asleep and oblivious to what was about to happen. Mind you, so was Switzie.

Out of the corner of his eye, Switzerland thought that he saw a flash of brunette against the green of the bushed in his garden, but he passed it off as a trick of the fading light. After all, he had been very edgy lately, what with the whole Italy business. Soon he was completely absorbed within the pages of his book. Out in the darkness a twig snapped, a few branched rustled, as if disturbed by a non-existent wind. Still Switzerland read on, never noticing a thing. Who could say, maybe old age was setting in at last? He only noticed that anything was out of order until that last moment, when the knife slid between his shoulder blades.

Too little too late.

Italy grabbed Switzerland by the throat, strangling the very last of the life out of him with a dreadful vengeance. With no air left, Switzerland's cry to Liechtenstein never left his lips, instead it died on his tongue. Before he could even think of a way out of this, Italy pushed Switzerland onto the grass, the knife going right through his heart. Blood sprayed up, spattering over Italy and joining Russia's crimson stains already coating Italy's shirt. The final spark of life went out of Switzerland's eyes, as Italy retrieved his knife, and then turned to go. Just before he did though, he looked up at the windows, and saw the terrified face of Liechtenstein peering out at him. He gave her a smile, waving his knife at her, before dropping a note on Switzerland's chest and disappearing into darkness.

Who would he get next?


	8. Scream

_**Chapter Eight:**_

_**A/N: Reader, meet Slovakia, Slovenia, Croatia and Czech Republic. Slovakia, Slovenia and Czech belong to my good friend Maddie, and Croatia belongs to me:D. (Along with the rest of the Yugoslav Countries). Oh yeah, and I already have the first nineteen chapters written, I just need to edit them and post them. **_

Slovakia knocked on her little sister's front door, shifting from foot-to-foot. She had been knocking and ringing for about ten minutes, but still no-one had answered. Sighing, she began to hunt around for the spare key that she knew her sister kept around here- somewhere. But that somewhere could be anywhere, and knowing how scatterbrained Slovenia could be, that key could have been moved since her last visit. Or lost.

Luckily she found it, beneath a plant pot around the corner of the house. She let herself in, waiting for her brother, Croatia, to come out and tell her off for letting herself in. But he didn't. The house was completely silent, not a sound could be heard. Usually you would hear Croatia and Slovenia arguing as siblings do, or the sound of Croatia cooking in the kitchen.

But there was nothing.

"Hey! Vena? Croatia? This isn't funny guys!" She shouted up the stairs. No reply. Her heart beginning to thump in her chest, Slovakia began to climb the stairs.

As she neared the top, a smell pervaded her nostrils. She knew that smell, but she just couldn't quite place it. It was sort of coppery, like wet, hot metal, and it made Slovakia want to gag. Surely... blood! Suddenly it clicked in her mind, as she sprinted up the last few steps in a panic.

"Yugoslavia!" She cried out, in her panic forgetting that Croatia hadn't been Yugoslavia for years and years. He was face down on the floor, his glasses lying broken a little way away, next to a half-packed duffel bag. Clothes and toiletries were strewn about the place, kicked around and crumpled up as if a scuffle had taken place.

Croatia's dark hair, which had always been so unruly, was plastered flat by blood. His ahoge, which curled back over his head in an arc, had been yanked out. Slovakia could only imagine the pain that would have caused him. She knelt by his dead body, allowing a few tears slip out from the corners of her eyes. She rolled him over, and then placed his glasses back on his nose.

"I am so sorry this happened to you..." Slovakia whispered as she closed his eyes beneath his glass lenses. If she ignored the blood, she could almost imagine that he had fallen asleep reading again. But there was no ignoring the blood and brains spattered all over him. Eventually, after what seemed like an age of weeping, Slovakia got up off her knees. She took a calming breath, and hoped that she could find Slovenia, but first she would call Czech.

With fingers trembling like wind-blown leaves, she pulled her mobile out of her pocket, and scrolled through her contacts until she found Czech.

"H-hey... Czech? Could... could you come down to Vena's place, please?" Slovakia tried to keep calm for the sake of her older sister, who at times could panic easily.

"What happened, Slovensko?" ('Slovakia' in Czech)

"Nothing, just get over here, now, česká republika," ('Czech Republic' in Slovak,)

"You can't fool me; you only call me that when something is wrong!"

"No, no, nothing's wrong, so just get over here!" Quickly Slovakia hung up, before the tremble in her voice could give her away. She may be quite good at lying, and keeping a deadpan face in the toughest situation, but this was too much for even her skills. With her nerves on edge, she began to search the house for Slovenia, dreading finding a dead body again. However, as Slovakia left the room, she accidently stepped on a loose floorboard. With the creaking of the board, a muffled yelp of fear came from the direction of the large closet. Spinning on her heel, Slovakia crossed the room in a flash and flung open the closet door, her knife she always kept hidden in her boot out at the ready.

And she came face to face with her sister.

Slovenia flung herself at the slightly taller country, clinging on to her with everything she had. She was trembling visibly; her breath coming in short gasps.

"I-I thought that you were Italy. C-coming b-back to k-kill me. Oh... Slovakia, I really... God, I'm sorry... so sorry..." She stuttered and whimpered as the tears streamed down her face. Slovenia could be very emotional, but she hardly ever let herself loose like this. Gently as she could, Slovakia led Slovenia to the bed and told her to sit down.

"Just breathe, there, okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

Slovenia looked up sharply, her eyes snapped right over to Croatia's body. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before shaking her head.

"Not... not with him just... l-lying there like th-that. It was... Oh God it was my... my fault!" And then Slovenia began hyperventilating all over again, and the tears spilling thick and fast from her hazel eyes.

"Your fault?" Slovakia asked.

"I-I, look, can we m-move somewhere else?" Slovenia cast another furtive glance in the direction of Croatia's body, almost as if she expected him to come alive and start shouting at her. With a sigh, Slovakia took her sister down to the lounge, where they sat on the sofa.

"Can you tell me now?" She asked. Slovenia took a deep breath, before starting.

"Croatia said that Italy might come for us; he said we should go somewhere else. You know how he is, the way he gets- got- these things right, so we began to pack. We weren't sure where we would go, but he said we had to run. Then h-he just froze and shoved me into the closet, merely seconds before Italy came through the window. Th-there was a short fight, but it... it didn't last long. I should have saved him, but I stayed put. I was so scared, Slovakia, I couldn't even move a muscle. When you came, I thought that you were Italy, coming back to get me. I was too terrified to look; I just stayed where I was. I'm really sorry..." Slovenia sniffled, biting her lip, her wavy brown hair falling over her eyes. Slovakia put an arm around her sister's shoulder, comforting her in silence. She felt a sort of ache, deep inside her, a sadness she had never felt before. No doubt Slovenia was feeling the same, if not a thousand times worse. What was going to happen now? Slovakia didn't know. No-one possibly could.

She knew that there was an emergency world meeting tomorrow, and so for just a day or two more they would be safe among others, but after that it would just be her, Slovenia and Czech all alone again.

After a bit, Slovenia drifted off, exhausted from shock, weeping and panic attacks. Soon Slovakia followed in her sister's footsteps, and about an hour later Czech walked in to find them like that. She snapped a photo of the adorable scene, before going upstairs to look for Croatia.

It was her scream that woke them.

Liechtenstein looked about her through eyes blurred with tears. No-one knew about her big brothers death, she had been too scared to do anything. She didn't want to leave her room, let alone the house, and so Switzerland's body still lay outside. Poor Liechtenstein, she was so confused, so scared but most of all she was depressed beyond belief. But unlike when Sweden had become depressed, she didn't see suicide as a way out. Her mind was too innocent for that, such a dark thing would never cross her thoughts for even a second. Yet she hadn't eaten for three days, and soon she might die simply from starvation. Imagine how she felt when she almost died, so long ago. Now picture that without Switzerland coming to save her, and what would have happened if he hadn't. Now you know how she felt just then. Hunger gnawed at her insides, yet she didn't move. Liechtenstein felt too faint and dizzy to do anything, much less begin to form a plan of action for what to do next. Austria was dead, so he couldn't help either. People were too scared to approach Switzerland's house, so the chances of someone coming to help her like that were next to nothing.

That was when the front door opened.

Liechtenstein scrambled to hide beneath her bed, knowing somehow that it was Italy walking through that door. She heard his booted feet coming up the stairs, and his no longer accented voice calling to her. In the narrow crack of vision she had from her position, she saw his boots come in through the door, and walk slowly and deliberately towards the bed. What Liechtenstein hadn't thought about, was that beneath the bed was the only place to hide in her room, meaning it would be obvious where she was at once.

Italy stopped right before her hiding place, his boots mere inches away from her face. Liechtenstein closed her eyes, silently praying that he would by a miracle go away. But he didn't, and when she opened her eyes it was to gaze into Italy's amber ones.

Grinning, he pulled her from beneath the bed by her boyishly short hair. She whimpered as he did so, hating the pain. She wanted this to be one of her nightmares, where the pain was only a figment of her imagination that would be gone the second she awoke, but everything had too much clarity for that. This was real life right now, whether she liked it or not.

Italy held his favoured knife up to her face, narrowing his eyes. Liechtenstein bit her lip, her eyes shining with tears.

"Would you like to meet your brother again?" Italy hissed. Liechtenstein didn't answer, she was trembling in terror; trying to edge ever so slowly away.

In a flash, Italy struck her cheek with the back of his hand, making her stagger back and collapse in the corner of her room.

"P-please..." She whispered, giving Italy her huge green eyes. If Italy hadn't snapped, he would have completely melted at her cuteness- but in his current state it only served to make him angrier.

"I think these need to go first," He said, advancing on her, his knife gleaming with a dreadful beauty. He knelt before her and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back against the wall. She couldn't move even an inch, and therefore there was nothing Liechtenstein could do as he raised the knife to her eye.

"I don't think that Norway screamed quite enough for me, when I did this to him... so now you can make up for that!" And then he drove the blade into her eye. Her scream was loud and high-pitched, outside a flock of birds flew up from the trees and circled away into the sky. She screamed over and over, the sound as sweet to Italy's ears as singing once was. Blood, bright red blood, painted Italy's hands as he pulled Liechtenstein's limp body up by her hair. He dragged her down the stairs and outside, where he flung her down on the grass.  
"Run!" He hissed in her ear, and shoved her towards the forest. Liechtenstein had no choice but to stagger blindly on, with tears and blood streaming down her cheeks. Italy smirked as he watched her go,  
enjoying the sight of her attempt to stagger away through the trees. Suddenly she fell to her knees, and didn't move again. He decided to give Liechtenstein a little incentive, and so he went back into the house and grabbed Switzerland's old favourite rifle.  
Carefully, so as not to harm his injured shoulder any more, he aimed it and fired. The bullet whistled over Liechtenstein's head, breaking her from her trance and startling her back into action. He fired again, this time aiming for the head but his shot went wide, much to his annoyance. A guttural growl came from the back of his throat, as he aimed for a final time. Just as he fired, Liechtenstein stumbled forward into a tree. The deadly bullet sunk into her back and she slumped forward, never to move again.  
Italy hauled her to lie next to Switzerland's body, dumping her by him. His note still lay untouched on  
Switzerland's chest, waiting to be found and read. It was probably too late now, after all, Croatia was already dead but Italy decided to leave it anyway. Just for the sake of it, Italy fired the last of the rifles ammunition into Switzerland and Liechtenstein's bodies.  
At last, feeling satisfied, he walked away; leaving the two corpses for the carrion birds and lowly scavengers that would no doubt be drawn in by the scent of so much fresh meat. Something had already been at Switzerland, Italy was glad to see.


	9. Betrayel From Within

_**Chapter Nine:**_

_**From Within, We Are Betrayed**_

"I'm telling jou bruder, I don't need to be here!" Prussia whined, sitting in the back of the car. "I could be at home doing somezhing vay more awesome!" Germany gritted his teeth, trying not to yell at his older brother. He got out of the car and began heading towards the building. He very often felt like the older brother, and normally he didn't mind, but with everything going on this was the last thing he needed.

"JOU VILL GET OUT OF ZHE CAR ZHIS INSTANT!" He hollered. Prussia jumped, shocked, then got out of the car and walked towards the building after Germany. The way he saw it, he wasn't a nation anymore so he could be doing much more awesome things than attending a meeting.

He chose a seat and sat down, firmly putting in his earphones. It appeared that pure awesomeness was having a 'manly' sulk. Germany began to prepare his papers and make sure everything was in working order.

After a bit, Britain arrived, and after that countries came pouring through the double doors. Everyone sat down, minus the usual chaos and chatter. Germany, for once, didn't have to ask for silence. Uneasy eyes darted to the empty seats where Russia, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania, Switzerland, Croatia and Liechtenstein should have been sitting.

"Like, where is my fabulous Liet" A very distressed Poland asked. Estonia opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. Britain had told him that he was to stay silent under all circumstances, or Italy would be the least of his worries. Germany cleared his throat, standing up so all eyes were drawn to him.

"Does anyvun know vhere Svitzerland, Russia, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, Liechtenstein, und Croatia are?" He asked. A sob came from Czech Republic, as Slovakia spoke out.

"He- Croatia- was killed... murdered by Italy," Her voice shook only once, as every head in the room turned in her direction. America looked like he was about to ask a question, but then the doors came open again and Greenland entered, pushing Norway in a wheelchair. Muttering voices flew around the room. Everyone was shocked, because now they were actually seeing what this terrible Italy could do. Norway gazed straight ahead, until Germany brought the attention back to him.

"Vell... It looks as if zhe others haf been killed..." Silence fell once more, and those who were wearing hats took them off and raised them in the universal sign of respect to the dead. Then Germany thought of something, and turned to Estonia with a frown.

"Vouldn't jou haf known if Russia, Latvia and Lithuania died? Vhy didn't jou say anyzhing?"

"It was Mr Britain!" Estonia said quickly, biting his lip and looking down. Everyone looked accusingly at the said Brit.

"Bloody hell, what are you wankers all looking at me for?" He snapped. Then, as the accusing eyes of almost the whole world gazed steadily at him, his resolve seemed to buckle. "Italy said he would get my family if I told anyone Russia was dead. But I swear to bloody god above I knew nothing about Switzerland and Liechtenstein!"

"Ahahah! Dude, family? Since when did you have any?" America laughed. His words hurt Britain deeply. Yes, they were true, but didn't America see that Britain had been protecting him? Britain tried to stay as calm as possible, he took another sip of his tea, and then got up from his chair as slowly as he could. He left the conference room, muttering something about a bathroom dash, and went outside.

The cool air helped to clear his head a little bit, as he went and sat down on the low wall in the car park. From inside his coat, he removed a small hip flask containing rum. He took a small swig before looking around. Then he realised that he wasn't the only one who had come outside. Denmark stood leaning against one side of the building, drinking from a bottle of strong Danish beer. As he drained the last drop, he dropped the bottle in a bin and sat down dejectedly.

Things weren't good for him at the moment. His slight feelings for Norway were being increased by pity, and yet Denmark couldn't stand to be around him. Whenever he looked at Norway, he always found a way to feel guilty. He told himself if perhaps he had forced Norway to come with him to the meeting, then he would never have been in that basement in the first place. Or perhaps if he had been more adamant about handing over Britain...

It was as that thought crossed Denmark's mind, he saw the very Brit sipping at a silver hip flask, sitting on the low car park wall. Denmark strolled over to him, putting on a cheery façade.

"Wanna spare a little drink?" Denmark asked, holding out a hand and raising an eyebrow. Britain looked up, dumbfounded by Denmark's presumptuous expectancy. After only a seconds thought, he passed up the flask to Denmark, who took a swig.

"You do realise that it is a very gentlemanly thing to say thank you?" Britain half admonished.

"Man, I'm a fushing vikin'!" Denmark slurred back. He had already had many, many drinks. So many, in fact, that Iceland had had to drive on the way. And since arriving he had carried on drinking. Remember, things are pretty hard for him right now!

"Yes, I do know that very well, after all you only kept invading me!" Britain replied, taking back the flask. He took a deep swig, before offering it back like the gentleman he is. Denmark made a face as he gulped down some more, unused to the strange flavour of it.

"Gah!" He spluttered. The rum mixed with the alcohol already in his system, and suddenly he found himself bending over to retch up everything he had eaten (okay, nothing) and drunk that morning. Britain stepped back to avoid the vomit, just as an arrow whistled in front of him. The deadly missile whistled over Denmark's head, just as he went to stand up. For a split second, a figure was seen at the edge of the car park, but Britain was looking in completely the wrong direction. He was staring at the open doorway, eyes open wide as dinner plates in shock.

"B-Britain... what..?" America stood there, looking down at the arrow in his chest. A bloody red rose was blooming steadily across his white shirt. The hero fell forward to his knees, as Britain ran to his side.

"Oh you bloody idiot..." Britain whispered. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, as he tried to stem the bleeding. But it was no use; America's life force was slipping away by the second.

"I'm... sorry... about what I... About what I said. Y-you're my big brother... Mr. Britain sir..." Then America's eyes slid closed for the final time. Britain tried not to cry, _stiff upper lip, man, stiff upper lip_. It didn't work, and Britain began crying like a small child over America's dead body. Denmark, with his brain clouded by alcohol as it was, still couldn't quite process what was going on.

"Germany sa- Oh God!" Greenland walked out, and stopped short. She took in her drunk brother, Britain crying and America's dead body on the ground. She stormed straight over to Denmark.

"Hey Greeney! Why is 'Merica lying on the floor?" He slurred.

Greenland slapped him across the face.

The effect was to instantly sober Denmark up. His head snapped round, as he massaged his sore jaw. He blinked a few times, before finally realising what was going on.

"Oh that Italian bastard!" Denmark exclaimed, clenching his fists. He began to walk to the spot where Italy had shot from, but Greenland pulled him back. She knew that even though he was fairly sobered up because of her slap, he would still be way to drunk do anything properly. She told him to go and get Germany, and then turned to Britain. She tried her best to comfort him, putting an arm around him which he shook off.

After that things passed in blur. Germany ordered a search party to be put together. Eight countries scoured the country side that surrounded the world meeting place in Britain, hunting down Italy. Until midnight they searched, and still on through the night until the sun began to rise above the horizon.

Slovakia was one of the countries who had volunteered to search for Italy, and soon she had separated from the group to look for him on her own. It was about one in the morning, and her flashlight was running out of battery. Mud coated her boots, as the rain was coming down without mercy, courtesy of Britain's despair. In the forest behind her, she heard a twig snap, and she pulled her knife out of her boot.

"Who's there?" She asked, taking out her pistol too. With her knife by her side, and her gun pointed in the direction the noise, she stood completely still. There was another snap, and a figure moved in the trees to her left. Slovakia lunged, pulling the person to the ground and putting the gun to their head.

"H-hey... don't p-point that at m-me please..." A quiet voice stuttered. Slovakia pulled back, to see someone she recognised vaguely.

"Ottawa? What are you doing here?" She asked of Canada's capital.

"I-I..." Ottawa stuttered, biting her lip. Her dark blue eyes darted to the side, as if she was looking for a way out. Slovakia knew at once something was wrong, and jammed the pistol to Ottawa's head again.

"What are you doing here? Answer honestly, or I'll shoot!" She threatened Canada's shy capital. Ottawa looked behind Slovakia, over her shoulder, and smiled. Slovakia looked behind her, suddenly uncomfortable, and saw Italy grinning at her. Ottawa kneed the Slovak in the stomach, making her double over on her knees in the mud. "Shit!" She groaned, clutching her stomach and trying to get her breath back.

"Well done, Catherine," Italy said, as he grabbed Slovakia by her shoulders and pulled her up.

"Do you want me to finish this off?" Ottawa asked, grinning. All trace of her stutter had miraculously vanished, and her volume level had risen remarkably. It was obvious that there was something very different about Ottawa. She wasn't insane like Italy; she was perfectly lucid and knew just what she was doing. Because, and this may shock you, Canada's capital had decided long ago she would have to be strong instead of Canada himself. All her life she had just been putting on the shy act, and waiting for her perfect moment to strike out.

"If you wish," Italy replied, pulling the struggling Slovaks arms behind her back. Slovakia's weapons lay in the mud a few meters away, useless to her now. Ottawa walked over to them, picking up the gun. That was another thing that set her aside from Italy: she got the killing over with quickly; she wasn't interested in sadistic games.

"Any last words?" Ottawa asked, raising the gun and taking off the safety. All it would take now was a quick squeeze on the trigger, and Slovakia would be dead.

"Only... HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME GOD-" She never fished as she was thrown through the air by an unexplainable explosion. Someone grabbed her wrist, and before she knew it Slovakia was being forced into a stumbling run. Whoever her rescuer was, she was grateful. They dragged her on, until at last they stopped by a tiny stream that was fast swelling from the heavy rain.

"Hey, you okay?" Denmark asked Slovakia. Britain stood behind him, cradling his hand which was glowing green.

"Yeah... thanks." She muttered, rubbing the back of her head. Her fingers came away stained red from blood. "Ooopps, maybe not..." She grimaced, before pitching forward in a dead faint.

When Slovakia awoke, she was in a hospital bed. She knew- in that unexplainable way that countries know- that she was in her own country. Slovenia was fast asleep in the chair next to her, and Czech was just walking in the door with two cups of coffee.

"Yay! You're awake!" She cheered, and Slovenia sat up, now awake too.

"What the hell happened?" Slovenia asked of her sister, leaning forward and taking a drink of her coffee. "Why didn't you stay with the group?"

"Meh... should I have? I thought I could do better on my own," Slovenia facepalmed, because that was so typical of Slovakia. "Oh, what happened after I passed out?"

"We'll tell you that when you tell us what happened," Slovenia said.

"Fine, fine. I saw Ottawa in the woods; I thought she was Italy so I asked what the hell she was doing in the woods. Then Italy came along, and Ottawa took me by surprise. I guess they woulda killed me if Denmark and Britain hadn't saved me,"

"That's awful!" Czech exclaimed, hugging her sister. "I'm so happy they didn't kill you, and after losing Croatia... I-I don't know what I would have done..." And then Czech began sobbing again, clinging onto Slovakia. Slovakia patted Czech's back, until the much shorter country had calmed down.

"Denmark just burst into the meeting room, where the rest of us were, carrying you. Greenland told him off, because he was still a bit drunk and she was worried about him. Germany stitched you up as best he could, then had us all on a plane back here,"

"Damn... Denmark carried me, now that's annoying!" Slovakia grouched, crossing her arms. Slovenia and Czech had to laugh, because they were glad that their sister was acting her normal self.

Suddenly the door to the private hospital room burst open.

**_A cliffhangeeeeerrrrrr! Please review, add to alert and favourite, it would mean a lot and I like to know what people think..._**


	10. Beautiful Art

_**Chapter Ten:**_

_**Beautiful Art**_

Ottawa stepped in through the door, a pistol in each hand. She smiled.

"Shall we finish what we started?" She raised her guns. The way she saw it, if she killed Slovakia and Slovenia first, then Czech would be easy pickings. And maybe she was right. But you should never underestimate the quadruplets. After all, Slovenia beat Prussia in a bar fight- using a toothbrush, when he had a knife.

"How the fuck did you get in?" Slovenia asked.

"The door," Ottawa replied, still aiming her weapons at Slovakia and Slovenia's heads. Slovakia, slowly so as not alert Ottawa, began to detach herself from the monitor by her bed. Slovenia saw this, and moved ever so slightly so that she shielded her sister's hands from view.

"Wh- why did they let you in?" Czech stuttered.

"No-one let me in, I killed them all, so they didn't have any say aboot it," Ottawa replied smoothly, looking very pleased with herself.

"Catherine, this isn't the way to be strong! Y-you can be better than this!" Czech tried again to talk to Ottawa. But Ottawa knew exactly what she was doing; she had wanted to do this for way too long to be stopped by the half-baked pleas of Czech.

"Dream on," And she shot at Czech. The short girl fell with a yelp, dead before she hit the floor. Slovakia sprung from the bed, anger lending her even greater strength. She tried to throttle Ottawa, but before she knew it her heart was full of lead, and she too collapsed. Slovenia picked up the visitors chair that she had been sitting on, and swung it around at Canada's capital. The wood splintered over Ottawa's head and she fainted on the spot. Certain that Ottawa was out stone cold, Slovenia turned to see if her sisters were really dead, or if she could save them at all.

No pulse beat in either of their necks, and they were already paling dramatically. Tears slid down Slovenia's cheeks as she closed Slovakia's eyes. It was just her left now; she was the only one of the quadruplets. Sure, she had all her siblings who had all been part of the Yugoslavian Federation, but she had shared a special bond with Slovakia, Czech and Croatia. The bond that only quadruplets can share. It was as she was crying silently over her loss, that the chair came down on the back of her neck. A long splinter of wood sunk into the soft flesh, wedging under the spinal cord. With a mild expression of surprise on her face, Slovenia fell forward. Ottawa vanished into thin air. Literally, one moment she was standing there holding a chair, the next she was gone like she had never been there.

Wonderful smells of cooking drifted from the kitchen- mussels in a white wine sauce. Italy grinned to himself, as he heard France singing quietly as he worked. The blond-haired nation still had no idea that Italy was in the house, and he had also forgotten that all those years ago he had leant Italy a key to his front door. Italy smirked, as he called out in a sickly sweet voice.

"Big brother France~" Italy walked into the kitchen. Yes, he just walked straight in.  
France swore rapidly in French, dropping his frying pan and spilling the boiling sauce everywhere. He had nothing to defend himself with, as he had just put everything away the dishwasher. The only weapon he had was upstairs in his bedroom, besides, France was no Slovenia. That is to say: he lacked the intuition to fight with whatever happened to be present.  
He backed up against the counter, as Italy advanced.  
"Italy, you wouldn't do zhis to me... you are my petit frère,"  
"Yes, yes... Y'know France, did you ever get round to returning those paintings?" Italy smiled, twirling his knife.  
"Eheh... paintings?" France stuttered nervously, his clammy palms were slipping on the marble counter. He knew just what Italy was talking about, but was too scared to come up with a smooth reply now.  
"Mona Lisa... just an example. Beautiful art, but the art I can make with a knife and my fingers is even more beautiful," France gulped, his knees shaking. His throat was dry as sandpaper, but that didn't matter now. Italy sunk his knife into France's stomach, the blood going everywhere. France gasped, tears coming to his eyes. He looked pleadingly at Italy, begging him silently not to do anymore.  
But that look angered Italy, and he struck France again with his knife. France slumped to the floor and hit his head in the counter as he fell. Kneeling, Italy dipped his finger in the blood and began to paint upon the kitchen tiles.

In England, the few countries that had stayed to attend the postponed meeting were shocked when a figure staggered into the room. It was Canada, gasping for breath and clutching a hand over his heart. At first, people assumed that Italy had struck again, but there was no blood to be seen. Canada collapsed on the floor, where England went to his side and checked for a pulse.  
"He is still breathing," England announced.  
"Vat is wrong vith him?" Prussia asked.  
"Well... I hope that I am mistaken, but it appears he must be having some sort of trouble with his capital..." Prussia paled ever so slightly. Yes, the great egomaniac empire was worried for someone else.  
"Vill he-" Prussia didn't get to finish, as Canada sat up with a gasp.  
"W-what why is Catherine... I-I..." Matthew looked around wildly, his eyes darting from face to face in the room. He was clearly terrified about something.  
Then Ottawa walked in, smiling like everything was normal. Normal, that is, apart from the gun in her hand and the blood on her shirt and in her hair. She pointed the gun at England.  
"You're coming with me, Italy wants to 'talk' to you,"  
"I bloody well am not going anywhere with a gun-wielding nutter!" Britain snapped.  
"I'm perfectly sane, Mr Britain. But step away from my country, and come with me or I'll shoot," She turned the gun and pointed it at Hong Kong. Britain froze when he saw the deadly machine being pointed at his ex-colony. "Or... I could shoot this one..." And then Ottawa turned the gun to Sealand. Sealand had come along for safeties sake, because England wouldn't hear of leaving him alone anymore. Britain was torn between saving himself, or going willingly and saving a few lives.  
"I'll come," Of course, the latter option was always going to win.  
"Brilliant. Now, _no-one _move. That means you to, China!" She pointed her gun at where China was slowly going towards Hong Kong. In her moment of distraction, Prussia tried to 'stealthily' come up from behind. In a flash, Ottawa pulled out a second gun from her belt and fired. Her aim was true, and her steady hand on the trigger sent the shot straight into Prussia's forehead. Prussia staggered, gasped; and then fell dead, lying across a stunned Canada.  
"BRUDER!" Germany shouted  
"PRUSSIA!" Hungary cried. But neither of them could move. Britain had cast a quick spell to stop that happening. He didn't want anyone else to die like that.  
He walked forward slowly, holding out his hands for the handcuffs Ottawa had produced from her pocket.  
However, before Ottawa could do anything, something strange happened. A bright blue light bathed the entire room, blinding everyone. When it cleared, the countries found themselves back home, still in the positions they had been in. Several fell over, because they had been sitting down. A few passed out, unused to the magic, because magic it was.  
Iceland was in Denmark's house along with Norway and Greenland. The Asians where all in China's house, and the Sealand was also in England's home. The rest of the countries who had once been part of the Yugoslav Federation were all in the house that had once belonged to Slovenia and Croatia. All the siblings hugged each other and cried, because somehow they knew that Slovenia, Czech and Slovakia were dead also.  
Canada found himself back home, with Ottawa looking murderously angry.  
"Heheh... h-hi..." Canada stuttered nervously. Ottawa smiled at him.  
"Shame, there's nothing you can do, Mattie. You can't kill me without killing yourself..." She said. Canada looked her in the eye, suddenly feeling confident.  
"But you forgot, the country can kill their own capital, without paying the final price," He said, quoting what Croatia had phoned him up to say years ago. At the time, he had thought it was nonsense; that perhaps Croatia had been tricked into it by his sisters. Now he saw why.

Ottawa pulled the best 'oh shit' face ever seen. 


	11. Country-napped

_**Chapter Eleven**_

"Okay! Just shut it everyone!" Serbia yelled at his brothers and sisters. He had his hands over his ears as he stood up, his booted feet clomping on the floorboards. "Until... until we know what to do we have to defend ourselves, and- OH FOR CRYING OUT, LOUD PUT THAT FUCKING LIGHTER AWAY!" He broke of what he was saying to yell at his sister, Bosnia. Terrified, Bosnia dropped the lighter on the carpet, where Herzegovina stepped on it with her trainers. Bosnia was quite fond of her lighter, and could often be seen playing with it at any given time. She didn't smoke- she would never touch those things- but the fire seemed to calm her. However, Herzegovina and Serbia hated the flames, and what they could do to a person.

"Erm... what were you saying, Serbia?" Montenegro quickly cut in, before a fight could break out. Serbia would win, that much was predictable, and she didn't want her sister to get hurt.

This family didn't get on that well. Sure, there's nothing wrong with a bit of diversity, but with the former Yugoslav Federation countries their personalities clashed like oil on water. Slovenia and Croatia had been good at keeping them calm, and dear little Czech had always managed to bring them together again. But now they were gone, dead.

No more.

Leaving the rest of their siblings behind. Herzegovina sighed, sinking into the sofa. The sofa where Slovakia, Slovenia, Czech and... Croatia had once sat. A thick silence descended in the room, tainted by Serbia's awful mood. Bosnia went to the window, leaning out so she could carry on playing with her lighter without her brother yelling at her. Cool air brushed past her face, moving her dark brown hair gently. It was a deceptively beautiful day in Slovenia, but dark clouds were looming on the horizon- figuratively and literally.

"Do you think that Italy will come after us?" Montenegro asked.

"Well, of course, idiot!" Serbia grouched. He seemed to be permanently in a bad mood, and at the moment that bad mood was worse than normal.

"You don't need to snap..." Montenegro muttered.

"Look. Look at this!" Bosnia suddenly yelled from her position at the window.

"What now?" Serbia asked.

"Outside..." Bosnia trailed off. Together they went out into the garden to see what Bosnia had been looking at.

In shocked silence they stared down at the freshly dug, roughly made grave. It could only be the place where Croatia had been laid to rest in final peace. A tear leaked out of Bosnia's eye, followed by another and then another until her shoulders shook with sobs. Without really thinking, Serbia gave her a tissue from his pocket, which she accepted gratefully.

"It's... It's so sad that this was all he got," Bosnia said, pointing at the unmarked stone at the head of the grave. Herzegovina nodded.

"He would have wanted better..." She sniffed.

"Yeah," Serbia muttered.

"But they did best with what they could, it can't have been easy for Slovakia or Czech," Montenegro piped up.

"Or Slovenia. How could you forget our sister?" Serbia added.

"Yes..." Montenegro sighed. That was when the Yugoslav club realised that they were actually getting on for once. They were agreeing with each other! Now that is saying something. Bosnia laughed through her tears, and hugged Montenegro for no apparent reason. Montenegro hugged her sister back, while Serbia just shook his head. Albania clapped him on the back, chuckling in his own way. Serbia looked at him, wondering why he was laughing suddenly. Albania seemed to read Serbia's thoughts.

"It takes Branimir's death to finally realise we get on. Strange, don't you think, Damir?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Serbia muttered, shrugging of Albania hand. He was annoyed how Albania always called everyone by their human names, so informal! Damir- aka Serbia- did not approve.

"Don't be like that now, brother," Albania lightly chastised with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Hey, guys! Listen up- as nice as this is, don't you think we need to find the other's bodies?" Kosovo spoke up. He normally kept himself to himself, and seemed to be constantly surrounded by a moody and brooding aura. Another silence fell, because Pjeter (Kosovo) had a point- and a good one to.

When, at last, they arrived at the hospital in Slovakia, they found it swarming with the national police. Kosovo shoved forward- brashly pushing past the police tape and walking up the nearest man in uniform.

"Môžeme ... ísť von- ummm- vnútri?" He asked in what little broken Slovak he knew. _**('Can we go inside', is what he's trying to say).**_The policeman studied him closely for a moment, as if he was trying to make sense of what Kosovo was asking. The hot-tempered nation wanted to yell at the man for being so slow, but a light hand on his shoulder from Bosnia just about restrained him.

"Do... do you speak English?" Was what the man said in reply.

"Yes," Kosovo said, relieved to have a language he could speak.

"No, you cannot go in. I am sorry,"

"WHAT!?" Kosovo shouted, grabbing the policeman's uniform jacket and shaking him. "MY SISTER IS IN THERE! YOU WILL LET- mmmmh!" That last part was because Albania had come up to Kosovo, and pulled him back, putting a hand over his mouth.

"What my brother is saying is, we need to go in," Albania shoved Kosovo behind him. He had an idea, but he wasn't sure if it would work. Some of the police knew about the countries as people, so he was going to take a wild guess and hope this man was among those select few. "We are... different... from the others here, you understand?" Albania clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, looking him in the eyes. He was slightly taller than the policeman, however, so the overall effect was somewhat intimidating.

"Oh... you're one of them..." The policeman replied, stepping aside. "Come, follow. I will take you to where you are wanting to go," And follow him they did.

As the seven countries stepped through the door, angry yells went up from the people outside who were waiting to be let in. The siblings were very glad that they couldn't understand Slovak, or Serbia and Kosovo might have lost it completely. They followed the officer down a few corridors, taking in the scenes of carnage and bloodshed all around. A man lay half out of his hospital bed, burned and shrivelled-looking. Somehow, they knew that the burns weren't from his original injuries, but that they had been inflicted by someone else. A doctor had clearly died while trying to protect the elderly woman who lay beneath him, his hands over his face. Bosnia looked back briefly, biting her lip.

"Catherine was here..." Bosnia murmured. "I can just tell,"

"Catherine couldn't have done all this on her own, you idiot!" Macedonia snapped back.

"But she did," Was Bosnia's reply. "Arjana, you have to believe me on this!" **_(Arjana is Macedonia)_**. Macedonia shook her head, not wanting to believe that any one person could hold so much power. But it was true, for there is another thing Catherine had kept a secret all her life: her magic! Yes, Ottawa had some very powerful magic, but I suppose a few will have guessed that already. You see, a few years ago Bosnia had walked in on Catharine doing magic, and had known ever since.

"Little Ela is telling the truth, you ought to listen to her Arjana," Albania cut in on the conversation, slinging his arms around each girls shoulders as they walked. Bosnia stayed silent, annoyed at being called little once again. She just couldn't understand it- her and Herzegovina shared a land space like Croatia and Slovenia did (and it is a big area, too!), yet Herzegovina was the tall one, and she was really short. Actually, it had been the same with Croatia and Slovenia, with Slovenia getting all the height while Croatia ended up short like her. Oh... Croatia... Slovenia... Only now did she really begin to miss them.

"we are here," And with that, the policeman swung open a door and stepped aside to let them in. Bosnia gasped, going straight to where three bodies were laid out on the ground. Czech looked as if she was asleep having a bad dream, well, apart from the blood all over her face and in her hair. Slovenia looked unhurt, but for the angle of her head; the way it lolled loosely to one side. Slovakia had blood stains all over her chest, and the floor around her.  
Bosnia wept silently by Slovenia's body, Albania, Kosovo and Serbia bowed their heads and Macedonia, Montenegro and Herzegovina tried to comfort Bosnia while crying themselves. It was just awful, and now the truth of what would happen next drove home.

_Italy would come after them next!_

Macedonia shivered, but not from cold. She was terrified now, knowing that what she saw in this hospital could happen to her at any given time. Would they be safe? And for how much longer? Discretely as she could, Macedonia slipped her hand in Slovakia's boot, removing the knife Slovakia had somehow slipped into hospital. She put the sharp blade in her pocket, and all without the trained eyes of the policeman seeing a thing. Macedonia smirked to herself, before getting to her feet and declaring it was time to go.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Albania asked. Macedonia nodded, and got to her feet.

Together, the seven countries left the room, with only Bosnia looking back.

"Goodbye, sister," She whispered, and then Herzegovina put a comforting arm around her shoulders, gently leading her away.

About three hours later, Kosovo stepped off his private jet in the airport. He was exhausted, his head throbbed, and he wanted to hit something. He did feel sad about Slovenia's death, but he couldn't let that annoy him, he had to keep going for the sake of everyone else. As he began to walk towards his home, a hand came out from a side alley and grabbed him round the back of his neck.

"Don't move, don't try anything," _Ital_y!

"Bastard!" Kosovo yelled as, completely disregarding Italy's warning words, he spun around. His fists struck out at Italy's face, striking a square blow to his jaw. But Italy didn't even seem fazed as, in an almost impossibly fast movement, he twisted Kosovo's arm behind his back. Kosovo hissed and was about to fight back, but Italy whispered in his ear:

"Come, come. You wouldn't want anything to happen to your dear little sister now, would you?" And then Italy forced Kosovo to look around, so he could see Bosnia handcuffed on the ground; a gash across her forehead bleeding lightly. Another set of shackles bound her ankles, so she couldn't run. Italy grinned at the conflicted look on Kosovo's face; he knew he had the grumpy nation wrapped around his little finger.

"Agh! Fine, fine. You got me, what do you want?"

"Oh, you know..." Italy trailed off, just as a van pulled to a stop by the side alley mouth. Kosovo was shoved inside, stumbling and falling against the dividing panel near the front. He was dazed, therefore to slow to react when Bosnia was flung inside and the door clanged shut.

The van sped off.

"Why are you here? I thought you went home with Herzegovina," Kosovo said, now sitting with his back against the side of the van. Bosnia was propped up opposite him, her eyes half-closed, though he knew she was awake.

"I... Look, this'll sound really weird but... I'm here because of something Croatia said to me years ago,"

"What?! But... what the fuck is that meant to mean?" Kosovo yelled, masking his confusion with anger, as per usual.

"Think about it, really think, Kosovo. Croatia just knew things, remember? He knew about... about this whole thing, and was dropping hints about this days, weeks, months- actually, if you think about it- years before Italy snapped-"

"Oh be quiet, this is ridiculous. If you're getting at what I think you're getting at, then you're crazy,"

"No, Kosovo. Croatia was psychic, he had the second sight, whatever you want to call it, but you can't deny it," Bosnia opened her eyes wide, and looked right at Kosovo, he cat-green eyes flashing with conviction. "I'm telling the truth, you're just too scared to admit it! That's the thing with you and Macedonia; you just can't accept anything out of the ordinary! You're too scared to admit it's true!"

"Fine! I admit it, okay!" Kosovo yelled, crossing his arms and looking away from Bosnia's smirk.

"I hope we're playing nice back there~" Italy opened the dividing panel between the back of the truck and where the driver sat, peering through. Kosovo would have lunged at him, but Italy was holding a gun in his hand, and there was no doubt the weapon was loaded.

"What are you going to do, Italy?"

"We're going to play a game of hide and go seek tag. Sounds fun, yeah? I'm really looking forward to this~" And then Italy slammed the divider shut again.

The smirk had melted off Bosnia's face, and instead her eyes were full of terror. She licked her lips and took a calming breath. Kosovo felt numb and angry and sad all at once.

What would Italy do to them in this _game_ of his?


	12. Nightmares And Regrets

_**Chapter Twelve:**_

_**Nightmares**_

_Hands were reaching for him, accusing voices whispering in the darkness. Cold fingers brushed against his bare arms, and then they tightened in a vice-like grip. Now faces were swimming out of the darkness, pained faces, twisted into agonised screams. Mouths crying out for him- either telling him to run or to stay forever, to walk away or say sorry. Voices were becoming clearer, separate accents singling out._

_"Dude, you coulda saved me!"_

_"Rearry, England. You courd have saved them, but you didn't Baka!" _

_"Jou! I'm dead because of jou! Zhis is not awesome!" _

_"Britain..."_

_"...Your fault..."_

_"...dead..."_

_"...gone..." _

_"Britain..."_

Britain was suddenly torn from his nightmare by the ringing of the phone. He sat up with a gasp, his hands clamped over his ears, his teeth biting into his lip hard enough to draw blood. He was shaking violently all over and clammy. Taking a deep breath, Britain picked up the phone.

"Yes, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking; in what way can I help you?"

"E-England... Papa... Oh merde! Papa... I-Italy..." Canada sounded dreadfully distraught. But England could make out just enough to know France was dead.

"Do keep calm, Canaidia. I will come right over now," Britain got out of bed, sighing as he put down the phone. His fingers massaged the bridge of his nose as he gritted his teeth to hold back the tears. All those times he yelled at France, and made out he hated him more than he did, or fought with him couldn't be sorted now. Why was it now, that France was dead, that England remembered the good times with France? Because yes, there had been good times, albeit long ago, when he had helped England's people and England had helped his. That was America and France he had lost now- the only two he could count as anything near friends, in some strange way. Just as England turned to leave, the phone rang once again. He picked it up, while getting into his jacket.

"Yes, Arthur Kirkland speak-"

"I do know who you are, Arthur. I need to talk to you at once," England knew the voice to belong to Albania, and never before had he heard him sound so down to earth and serious. The usual cheery warmth had left his tone, as he continued speaking.

"My two of my siblings, Ela and Pjeter have gone missing," For a moment Britain was confused, but then human names matched up to country names and he replied:

"How long have Bosnia and Kosovo been missing?"

"Since some time last night," was the reply. Britain made an irritated sound under his breath. Why must everyone suddenly come to him?

"Well then, give it 24 hours and see if they come back. I really must go," then Britain hung up the phone, heading out to his car.

At last, after who knew how long, the truck ground to a halt. Kosovo and Bosnia were thrown roughly from one end of the truck to the other, groaning in pain as they ended up banging their heads against each other. The doors opened, and rough hands grabbed each country in iron grips. Struggling was useless and Kosovo could do nothing but yell foul curses, as his hands and feet were bound in heavy iron manacles. Bosnia bit the hand of the man who was holding her, and je struck her across the face, hard enough to send her spinning away from him. She tried- and failed- to stand up and fight back, but the doors were locked shut and she and her brother were left alone again.

"I hope you can hear me," Italy spoke from outside. "I'll be back for you in three days, which should be long enough for you to say what you need to. Then... well, let the fun and games begin!" And then there was the sound of a car driving off.

Bosnia tried not to cry, taking a deep breath and biting her lip. Kosovo managed to get to his knees and banged his shoulder against the doors, to no avail.

"You FUCKING bloody BASTARDS! I will come and FUCKING KILL YOU! SO YOU LET US OUT GODDAMMIT! SOMEONE LET US OUT! HELP US!..." for nearly two hours straight, Bosnia and Kosovo yelled and shouted at the top of their lungs. But no one came; no one could possibly hear them in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, Bosnia fell silent and lay down on the floor of the truck, her energy spent and her throat aching and raw.  
"You're not going to sleep, are you" Kosovo croaked, his voice nearly gone. He was craving water more than anything now, but there was nothing to drink- or eat, for that matter.

"I may as well..." Bosnia muttered, yawning. "After all, we could fight much better if we are well rested,"

"Yes, I s'pose," Kosovo said, easing himself into a lying-down position. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine things were back to normal. In his mind he said sorry to all his siblings for always being so... grouchy, so foul-tempered and all the things he had said and done. Never before had he even considered that he would miss them- especially Albania and Serbia. Before he realised it, tears were leaking from his eyes. When was the last time he had cried? He didn't know, but he knew it was a very, very long time ago.

England was watching the French Police Force take away France's body, while awkwardly comforting Canada as best he could. The usually forgotten country was shaking violently from shock; he had now lost Alfred and France, and killed his own capital. All across America, the states had vanished, obviously dead without being tied to their country's life force. Paris, who had been talking to Berlin and Madrid, had vanished too. Quebec had suddenly fallen sick- yes, it is in Canada, but it had strong French-Canadian origins. Britain took a quick survey of how things were in his mind, before turning back to Canada.

"Would you like to stay with me?" He asked. Canada nodded mutely, slowly getting to his feet. He took a final look to where the doors were closing on France's corpse, and whispered a silent final farewell before following England to the car.

Everything was silent in Denmark's house, and the air was filled with a dreadful depressing atmosphere. Norway sat facing the window, not really seeing anything. He heard his brother curse from the kitchen as he dropped something and on instinct Norway wanted to help, but he couldn't move. With a wordless grunt of frustration he slammed his heavily bandaged hands into the wheels of his wheelchair, only to wince in pain. He could hear another voice and few Icelandic cuss words and then silence again. How he wished he knew what was going on, but he couldn't even move himself without help, he couldn't call out and he couldn't even hold a pen to write what he wanted to say. Italy had done his work well. Though, Norway still had a little magic in him, which was how he had transported all the countries out of the meeting building. He let his head roll back in frustration.

"Norge?" A voice said hesitantly from the doorway. He nodded and raised a hand. "You wanna move somewhere else?" Greenland asked. Norway shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. Greenland pushed the wheelchair towards the kitchen, trying not to jolt him going over the threshold. Iceland looked up from where he was plucking a few shards of pottery out of his hand. Norway frowned in confusion, wanting someone to explain.

"I dropped the stupid coffee mug," Iceland muttered, with a small shrug. "Denmark made me jump," That was when Norway glared at Denmark out of his one good eye, and the said country left the room in a hurry. He was about to somehow ask for Greenland to take him into another room, when There was a shout of horror, and the crash of breaking glass.

Greenland ran into the corridoor, and gasped when she saw Denmark beating back a snarling Italy. Yes, Italy was snarling like a feral animal. His teeth were bared, his hair was wild and blood stains were spattered over him from head to toe. Blood smeared his face too, and it was even in his hair! After a second of shocked delay, she ran to help her big brother, armed only with a sharp pottery shard. Iceland quickly pushed Norway towards the back of the kitchen, lurching himself into the fray too. A knife came in his direction, and he very narrowly avoided being impaled by the wicked blade. Working together, Iceland Greenland and Denmark just about managed to tie the struggling Italian down with some convenient rope.

"You'll let me go! Do it or you'll be sorry!" Italy growled. Iceland was doubled over panting from the exertion, and he deliberately ignored what Italy was saying. Denmark hit Italy, hard across the face, making his cry out for a moment; Greenland brushed back her hair and held up Italy's knife.

"What were you doing? Don't you think you've done enough to this family already?"

"No, never. I'll finish what I started, whether you like it or not. No-one ever gets away from me! It's like a game of chess, so many pieces I have to keep an eye on and the whole time I want to get the king! Ottawa was just a pawn for me to expend, which I did, now I have to get Norway, and the rest of Yugoslav Federation, you'll all go in the end- family won't matter then! So let me go, and maybe I'll let you go on a little longer. Just give me Norway, yeah? Then everyone can be happy!" Italy seemed to be rambling on, babbling in the face of danger. What was it Britain had said? 'We are assuming that Italy, though off his rocker, is still Italy'. So true Britain, so true. Denmark slammed his fist down on Italy's head, his frame quivering with force of his anger.

"Family will always matter, Italy. Whatever you say or do- I know that now, and man I wish I realised it earlier. I've lost three very close friends already, and I _will not_ give up Norge too. I should kill you now, so you can't tear any more families apart, but I'm not gonna do that,"

"Why not, Denmark, you too scared?" Italy taunted, while Greenland just stared in shock. Denmark was beginning to change, and although it was for the better, it unnerved her. This was a serious, strong, deep side of Denmark she had never seen in her life- and it just felt wrong to see him like that.

"No," Denmark said quietly, with a shake of his head, "I just don't want to be like you," And then he walked off, leaving Iceland and Greenland to wonder what to do with Italy.

"Call Britain," Greenland ordered, taking charge. "We have to do something with _him_," she and Iceland were standing in the doorway, with their backs to Italy. She jabbed her thumb at the empty chai-

Wait, _empty chair!_

Greenland spun around, cussing rapidly in Danish as her panic rose like a rising sea monster in her chest.

"Looking for me?" A voice said. Greenland turned and saw Italy, holding Iceland in a choke hold tightly. Iceland was struggling with all he had, but his face was slowly going purple as he gasped for air.

"Get... off..." He gasped, driving his elbow into Italy's stomach. Italy just smirked, an tightened his grip, making Iceland half hiss, half gasp at once as his fight for air became more desperate. The Ice-and-fire nation was slowly going limp, and Greenland was still frozen in shock.

"DAMN YOU ITALY!" Denmark came charging back in, and his loud holler unfroze Greenland. Together, the siblings tried to tackle Italy from either side, but somehow the ex pasta-lover somehow pulled away. Naturally, Greenland and Denmark crashed into each other almost comically, staggering back completely dazed. Italy laughed at them, before dropping Iceland's unmoving body on the ground.

"Shall we fight this out?" He grinned, flourishing yet another wickedly sharp knife. Greenland could only stare at the body on ground. Surely Iceland wasn't... dead, was he? She felt like her heart stopped in her chest for a just a second, before fire flared up in her heart and she lunged at Italy. Without even realising it, she was screaming a pure scream of wordless rage. Italy would die for what he just did; no-one messed with her family and got away with it. Ever.

Then the knife struck.


End file.
